Let It Never Snow
by Adara-chan67
Summary: Sam is captured by an ice creature on his first hunt, and Dean reaches a level of fear and love he's never before experienced. Songfic, one shot, no pairings.


DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters, but I DO own the plot, so HA!

AN: Okay, so this is sort of a companion to _For the Love of a Winchester_, but you definitely don't need to read that to get this. It actually just expands on a couple paragraphs of that, because the idea wouldn't leave me alone but didn't fit into the story.

Anyways, happy reading!

- - - - - - - - - -

I have no confidence 

_And I can't see why I should._

_I would do most anything for you_

_And you know I would_.

"Okay, here," Sam Winchester said, slapping the tabletop.

Dean dropped the book he held with a sigh of relief and turned to look at his little brother, who was sitting on the tiny couch of their tiny motel room, their father's laptop open on the tiny table in front of him. Sam's brow was furrowed in his trademark look of concentration, making him look much older than his eleven years. Dean felt a smile grace his features, but hid it quickly and said, "Finally! Thought geek-boy had finally lost to the 'Net."

"It's only been half an hour, Dean. And I'm not a geek."

"Right. Well, what are you then?"

"A kid with a freakishly high IQ is what Dad calls me."

"Exactly. That's a geek. Look it up. Whad'ya got?"

"Um…Bentsville, Colorado. Six missing people. They all disappeared within the last six days, one a day, and every time one disappeared one would turn up dead nearby. Started in November. No common denominators—all different ages, backgrounds—the only thing they all had in common was that they lived in Bentsville and disappeared in the same forest. Been going on for decades, apparently."

"What makes you think it's something supernatural?"

"Just the way they all died." Sam looked up from the computer screen, and his voice took on a different quality. "They were all…eaten."

Dan fought down his immediate nausea—he _hated_ the jobs that concerned humans being chomped by monsters, but Sam was still so young—there was no reason for him to spend too much time contemplating _that_ thought.

"And there's more. The skeletons were picked clean, but perfectly intact—and the bones were frozen solid."

"Well, Sam, it _is_ December. In Colorado it'll be freezing."

"Yeah, but the bones were frozen _all the way through_. They 'shattered at the lightest touch unless handled with extreme care.' And they weren't outside long before that, according to the autopsies. It was like…like whatever got them just…froze _everything_, and then left them to rot."

Dean frowned. "Why would anything do that? I mean, what's the _point_, if the skeletons are just gonna get left anyway? And why bother _leaving_ them at all?"

Sam shrugged. "I can't answer your second question, but I think the reason the bones are frozen is that this thing is an ice spirit—it just couldn't control the temperature and it froze the bones without really meaning to. And that would explain why all this started up when it got cold. I mean, we'll have to check with Dad when he gets back, but…"

Dean grinned and reached out to ruffle his brother's hair. "Ah, who needs him, you're twice as smart anyway."

Sam slapped his hand away. "Don't _do_ that."

Dean held his hands up in mock-defense. "Hey, it's not _my_ fault you don't cut your hair." He turned his back pointedly on Sam's glare, but as he picked up the book he had been flipping through, a thought sprang unbidden to his mind: _He's growing up so fast on me…_

_Why_ did that thought make him feel so sick inside?

I try too hard 

_And then I give up too easily. _

_I'm the runner-up inside of you_

_And you're the winner inside of me._

"Are you serious?"

John Winchester looked calmly at his oldest son. "I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

"You want…to take Sammy…on a hunt?"

"Right."

"On _this_ hunt?"

"Obviously."

"So you want Sam's first hunt to be for a deadly ice spirit that _eats_ people."

"No time like the present. And he _is_ the same age you were when you started."

Dean frowned. "Yeah, but Sam isn't me. He's more…sensitive. You _know_ that."

"And _you_ know that with the life we lead, that will have to be trained out of him before it kills him." John looked up in time to catch the stricken look on Dean's face, and sighed. "Dean, I didn't mean it like that. But you said it yourself—he's growing up. And in this family, you know that that means."

_But I don't _want_ him to grow up_! Dean wanted to scream the completely irrational thought aloud. _I want him to stay a baby!_

But Sam wasn't a baby. Maybe he never had been. He was eleven years old, and in spirit he was far older than that. His mind wasn't taken up with videogames and sports—it was focused almost entirely on ambush tactics and monster research. And it was time for him to learn through experience that which had only been theoretical before now. Dean knew this, and the knowledge only served to freak him out more.

"I want him to be safe," Dean whispered, hardly even noticing that he'd said the words aloud.

"Well, he isn't!" John said, much more loudly than was natural. It was lucky Sam was such a sound sleeper—he only stirred a bit on his and Dean's bed, turned over on his side, and slept on. John tossed him a look and lowered his voice. "He _isn't_ safe, Dean. He'll _never_ be safe. Our family is the scourge of the underworld, and something will _always_ be after us. We'll _always_ be in danger…_all_ of us. Coddling him won't change that. So suck it up and just concentrate on keeping him alive on the field when we get to Colorado."

_Lose your way and I will follow,_

_Here today and here tomorrow._

_Like my freedom I know_

_I'll never let you go._

"So this is Colorado?" Dean asked rhetorically, staring out the window at the snowy landscape. "It's really…"

"Pretty?" Sam piped up.

"Well, I was gonna say dull, but…"

"Better than Iowa, though."

"Hey, I liked Iowa!"

"It never _changed_, Dean."

"Well, we didn't go _through _all of it. Maybe it changes if you get farther in."

"We went practically from border to border, moron."

"Geek."

"Will you two give it a rest?" John snapped, though it was said rather absently as the man peered out the windshield at the iron-gray sky.

Sam fell silent instantly, a slightly hurt look on his face. Dean glared at John, but he didn't want to pick a fight with him in front of Sam, so instead he said, "Think it's gonna snow?"

"No. I think it's gonna _storm_."

"How bad?"

John shrugged. "What, do I look like a meteorologist?"

Dean sighed inwardly. Talking to his father was _useless_ today. The man just wouldn't carry on a conversation. What _was_ it with him? By all accounts, it was _Dean_ who should be mad. His father's words still rang in his ears, and every time he thought of them he felt almost sick, but _he_ was being perfectly civil. Why couldn't John do the same? If he kept acting this way, Sam would _know_ something had happened, and Dean didn't want his brother to find out exactly how often he and John argued about him. He'd only feel guilty, and in the end it would be pointless for him to know anyway.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked, because if John didn't grow up and talk to him he'd go insane, and no matter what, his father never failed to answer this question.

"We'll stop at a motel tonight and go get the thing tomorrow." John slowed down the truck to turn onto the road that, according to their map, led directly to Bentsville. "It shouldn't be too hard to track—all the bodies turned up in the same place, so the thing's lair should be nearby."

"And if we can't find it?"

"Have we ever _not_ found it, Dean?"

Dean glared at his father openly this time, because the fact was, they had lost the trail of spirits and monsters plenty of times, and usually they found it again through sheer luck or, when he was old enough, Sam's research. But John didn't even look at him, and when Dean saw Sam's puzzled look he said quietly, "No, sir," and settled back in his seat to wait.

I still wish on an evening star and I suppose I always will. 

_Every child loses something a whole life can't fulfill._

_And when you cry I feel the sky burst open in my veins. _

_If loving you makes a slave of me then I'll spend my whole life in chains._

The storm John promised came in full force during the night, and by the time the Winchesters woke the next morning the ground was covered in nearly a foot of snow with no signs of it stopping.

"Are we actually going out in this?" Dean asked, looking unhappily out the window as the wind whipped the snow in all directions, reducing visibility to almost nothing and piling the ground with what was quickly turning into inches of frozen water.

John sighed impatiently. He was in a slightly better mood today, but he always sulked for at least forty-eight hours after he and Dean argued over Sam—which was the _only_ thing they had ever argued over. "And why wouldn't we?"

"Oh, I dunno, maybe because someone could _die_." Sam_ could die…_

"More _will_ die, without a doubt, unless we go out."

"I know, but can't we at least…?"

"_No_, Dean. Sam's going. End of story. We're more than capable of keeping him safe, so stop worrying and go get the flamethrowers ready."

XXX

"Well, this is it," Dean said, mostly to himself, as he, John and Sam each took a large, heavy flamethrower from the covered bed of the pickup. Dean held his favorite weapon indifferently, too busy concentrating on appearing calm to care. "You remember how to use these things, Sam?"

"Y-yeah," Sam replied uncertainly, sounding both excited and terrified. Mostly excited, though—hard as it was to remember sometimes, he was only a kid, and didn't quite realize exactly how dangerous their line of work was.

Dean hated the idea that he was going to find out.

"Let's get this over with," John said shortly, stalking past them and moving quickly toward the path that sloped down toward the forest. Dean and Sam hurried to keep up, lest they lose him in the blinding snow, and found him waiting at the edge of the trees. As soon as they were within hearing distance, he said, "All right, so this shouldn't be too difficult. You both know how to use those, so by far the hardest part will be finding the thing. I'll go ahead of you two, and try to find tracks. Follow right behind me and _stick together_."

The storm had picked up its pace even more, and now it was impossible to see more than a couple of feet in any direction. Wading through the snow, which was halfway to his knee, Dean found himself getting angrier and angrier, and then he looked at Sam, who was trying to stay balanced and not having very little luck, and he cursed John under his breath as he reached out to steady his brother.

Time slipped past without any real meaning, and the storm got worse, until Dean was feeling and sensing his way along, holding tightly to Sam's shoulder to keep track of him, concentrating with all his might on following his father, who had dropped back so that he was walking barely a foot ahead. Dean stepped carefully into the deep tracks his boots and legs made, and made sure Sam did too. None of them spoke, because it was entirely pointless—they'd never be able to hear each other, anyway, unless they shouted at the tops of their voices, which would only alert what they were hunting.

_This has got to be the stupidest thing we've ever done_, Dean thought savagely. And it was—there was no hope of finding anything resembling a trail in this, and meanwhile he himself was freezing, tired, wet and hungry. He knew John couldn't be faring much better, but it wasn't until he felt Sam shivering even through his heavy jacket that he decided enough was enough. He reached out to tap John on the shoulder and inform him that it was about time to turn back…and stumbled.

He let go of Sam and tried to keep from falling face-first into the snow by grabbing onto a tree, and after a moment he righted himself. It was only as he started to reach out to grab Sam again that he realized it, and even then he didn't _see_ it, only _felt_ it, with a bone-deep, horrifying certainty.

His brother wasn't there.

_Lose your way and I will follow,_

_Here today and here tomorrow._

_Like my freedom I know_

_I'll never let you go._

Sam's head pounded, and he had no idea where he was or what was going on. And he was cold…so cold, far colder than even this blizzard warranted, cold in a bone-deep, inescapable way that made him feel exhausted and disoriented. He somehow had the sense that he was flying. No, not really flying, more like…jumping. And _something_ was gripping him, hard enough to hurt if he wasn't so numb. That thought terrified him enough to prevent any loss of consciousness, but his thoughts were far too slow and sluggish for him to actually do anything like trying to make an escape. So he had to settle for just figuring out what was happening to him, in the manner of someone much older than Sam actually was.

_The last thing I remember I was walking with Dean…_Dean! _Oh, God, I hope he and Dad are all right…_ Sam forced the thought of his father and brother, possibly hurt, and tried to concentrate. He had been walking, and Dean had stumbled and let go of him, and the next second, before he could even see if Dean was okay, _something_ had crashed over his head, nearly knocking him out, and then he was snatched right up off the ground. And now, it seemed, that _something_ was taking him _somewhere_.

_Well, this sucks,_ Sam thought darkly, trying to open his eyes. But either his eyelids had frozen shut or the cold was sapping all his strength, because he couldn't even manage that. He registered dimly that his eyes were stinging, and realized after a moment that he was crying. He felt like such a wimp, but he couldn't help it. He was scared.

Then, the next thing he knew, the thing carrying him was falling. It landed on the ground with a thump that would have made Sam cry out with the pain in his head if his vocal chords were working, and then the air was suddenly slightly warmer. There was no more jumping, and for that Sam was profoundly grateful. But he still couldn't seem to open his eyes, and part of him really didn't want to.

He was carried for another few minutes, and then, without warning, he was dropped unceremoniously on the cold ground. He lay there, too cold and tired to move, and listened. There was a sickening _thud_, and then quick steps, and then…silence.

The air warmed more, but it was still damp and chilly. Sam still didn't attempt to move, though he knew he should. He just wanted to sleep…

XXX

"Hey. Hey, kid, wake up."

Someone was shaking him gently and talking to him. Sam groaned and turned his head slightly, but didn't open his eyes.

"Come on, wake up."

Sam didn't want to wake up. His head hurt still, and he wanted to keep pretending that everything was fine.

_But that's not what a hunter does_, his father's voice insisted in his head. _Hunters try to solve the problem. They don't pretend it isn't there. _

Sam's eyes snapped open, and the young man leaning over him leapt back in alarm. Sam looked him over. He seemed to be only about sixteen, with brown eyes and hair and a serious face. He also looked as tired as Sam felt, with some stubble on his chin, dark circles under his eyes, and ripped and torn clothing. They stared at each other for a moment, the man looking like he expected Sam to start crying at any moment. And although that was exactly what Sam felt like doing right now, there was _no way_ he was going to break down in front of this complete stranger who looked at him like he was going to break.

Instead, he rolled his eyes and muttered, "This…bites. Dad's gonna kill me."

The man gaped at him for a moment, then wordlessly offered his hand. Sam hesitated, then allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. He wobbled a bit, then steadied himself and looked around.

The first thing he discovered was that they were underground, in a cavern of some sort. The stone walls were covered in a thin layer of frost, and it was very dim, with only a couple of old torches providing light.

The second thing he noticed was that he and the other guy weren't the only ones in the room. There were three others, one a young girl about thirteen, who was sitting against the far wall, arms wrapped around her knees, crying softly and looking terrified. There was also a girl about the same age as the guy standing next to Sam. She wasn't crying, but her face was white with fear.

But the thing that nearly broke Sam's heart was the little girl clutching her hand. She was barely three years old, and she was utterly silent. She seemed to be scared and stunned beyond tears. And she was shaking with cold. Seeing this, Sam pulled off his outer coat, leaving himself in only a T-shirt and a zip-up sweater, ignoring the sudden decrease in body temperature, and hurried over to wrap it around her. The older girl smiled shakily at him, and he nodded quickly and fell back to studying their surroundings.

"Uh…hi, there," the man said, breaking the silence. "What's your name, kid?"

Sam looked quickly at him. "Sam Winchester. And I'm _not_ a kid."

The guy smiled, and it wasn't in a mocking or superior way. "Right. Sorry. I'm Brian. This is Amber, Julie, and the little one is Krista."

"Nice to meet you. Where are we?"

Brian shrugged. "In a cave outside Bentsville."

"Yeah, duh. And why haven't you all run out screaming yet?"

"Because every time we try we end up back here half-frozen with no idea of how it happened."

"Oh…what?"

Brian shrugged. "Well, do you know how _you_ got her?"

Sam started to reply, but then he realized the truth—he didn't remember a thing except coldness and confusion. "…No," he said quietly. "I have no idea. But what exactly happens?"

Brian answered again. He seemed to be the spokesperson for the little group. "Well, we've tried to get out twice, but…I dunno, each time, it just gets…cold. And we can't move or talk or anything. And by the time everything makes sense again, here we are. That's the way we were brought here, too. We were all out walking—on different days—and then it got cold and we ended up here. We don't know how long we've been here because we can't really keep track of time. And every once in a while, it'll get cold in here and when it gets warm again one of us is gone, and a new person is here to take their place. That's happened twice so far—once with Amber and once with Krista. They appeared when a guy named Zack and a guy named Mike vanished. I've been here longest, but I have _no idea_ what's going on."

"…I do," Sam said, very softly.

Brian looked puzzled. "What'd you say?"

Sam looked at him for a long moment, and then said more audibly, "Nothing. Just…you guys don't have to be scared. My family will come for us."

Brian looked incredulous, and he wasn't the only one—everyone except Krista had the same look. "What are you talking about? If we can't get out, how is anyone supposed to get _in_? And how is your family going to _find_ this place if _we_ don't even know where it is?"

"Don't ask how. Just trust me. They'll come."

"And if we freeze to death beforehand? What then?" Brian demanded, seeming to forget that he was talking to an eleven-year-old boy.

But in truth, Sam had never felt _more_ like a helpless eleven-year-old boy in his life.

_Walk the line._

_I'll walk inside you.  
Change your mind._

_Let your love decide you. _

_It's the reason I know_

_You'll never let me go._

_Never let me go._

Dean was _not _having a good weekend. First, he and his father fought over Sam _again_, and then John dragged them both on this stupid hunting trip for this stupid ice thing in this stupid hick down, and then the thrice-damned blizzard had started up, and then John, in his infinite stupidity, had insisted that they go out anyway.

And now Sammy was missing.

He had been missing for six hours now.

And Dean was scared.

No, scared didn't even _begin_ to cover it.

Dean was very nearly homicidal.

"Dean, will you stop _pacing_?" John snapped. "You're driving me nuts?"

"Well, at least I have enough of a heart to be panicking right now!" Dean practically shouted. He and John had been having this argument off and on for the last five hours. "Sam's _missing_, Dad. He's _missing_, and you're forcing me to just sit in this motel room and _wait for the storm to blow over_! WHY THE HELL COULDN'T WE WAIT FOR THE DAMNED STORM TO BLOW OVER BEFORE WE WENT OUT TO FIND THIS THING?"

"Dean, we've been over this. We don't have any way to find him if we can't even see each other. We'd just end up lost ourselves and that'd be no help to Sam. You've just got to keep a level head, and treat this like any other hunt."

Dean was actually struck dumb by this. He couldn't _believe _what he was hearing. "_A level head!_ He's my baby brother, Dad! And he's your _son_!"

John looked away and didn't say anything, but that was all right because Dean's rant was picking up force now.

"You're _unbelievable_, old man. A member of this family is in trouble, maybe hurt—" He refused to even _think_ the other word. "—And all you can say is 'wait for the storm to blow over.' And I can't do anything _besides_ that because you've already proved once that you're not above _attacking_ me to keep me here!" Dean rubbed the bruise on his arm—which attested to the fact that he had tried to go out and look for Sam once already—and glared at John. "I _told_ you bringing him along was a bad idea."

"DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW THAT?" John finally shouted, and Dean fell silent with shock. "Don't you think I _know_ how wrong I was? I _know_ this is my fault, and I can hardly live with myself! And I want to find him as badly as you do, but so help me God, if you go out there and get lost, too, I'll _kill_ you when I find you. Now _sit down, shut up, and wait_."

XXX

Dean was still in shock hours later. He hadn't once moved from the couch John had told him to sit on, not even after John fell into an uneasy sleep on his bed across the room. He just sat and stared out the window, watching the snow fly by. The minutes lengthened into hours, until before he knew it Dean had been sitting on that couch for almost fifteen straight hours. Night fell at around the fifth hour, and by hour sixteen the sky was growing light.

And the snow had slowed down. It looked like it might actually be stopping, finally.

And Sam had been missing for nearly twenty-two hours.

Dean tossed a look at his father. John had fallen into a real sleep now, and didn't show any signs of really waking anytime soon. Dean watched him for a long time, making sure he wasn't feigning sleep, and then he slowly stood up and walked on silent feet toward the door. He grabbed a sweater, a heavy coat, his boots and the cell phone John had gotten him for safety reasons, and went outside, closing the door behind him so softly that not even John Winchester, one of the lightest sleepers on the planet, picked the sound up.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he muttered as he struck out toward the woods after grabbing his flamethrower from the truck. "You know I never could stand waiting."

_Lose your way and I will follow._

_Here today and here tomorrow._

_Like my freedom I know_

_I'll never let you go._

Dean used to love snow. He used to love to play in it, and throwing it at Sam, and making snowmen. The first snowfall of the year was probably his favorite day, and when he was younger he would wait on pins and needles for it.

Now he cursed whoever had decided to make the stuff, because it was keeping him from his brother. It had covered any tracks the creature might have left, and it had also covered his and John and Sam's tracks, so that he couldn't be sure exactly where it was that Sam disappeared.

But one thing he _was_ sure of was that the ice thing had captured Sam. That was the only possibility. Dean knew for certain that Sam wasn't just lost somewhere. He would have stopped when Dean let go of him, to make sure Dean was all right. He wouldn't have moved on until Dean had him by the shoulder again, because that just wasn't his way.

So he must have been captured.

And he wasn't dead. Dean knew that, too. The boy was alive. If he wasn't, Dean would know. That's just the way it was with brothers.

Besides, he hadn't found a skeleton yet, and he'd been looking.

So Sam was alive. The problem was, there was no way to find out _where_ he was. There was no path to follow in the snow, and Dean had no way to tell where the creature's lair might be. He had been wracking his brains as he searched, but he came up with nil.

It was as he reached the spot where he was reasonably sure Sam had disappeared that it hit him, with such force that he nearly slapped himself.

_The thing didn't move on the ground! _If it had, Dean would have felt it, and if he hadn't, John certainly would've. But if it traveled _above_, neither of them would have sensed it. _Why hadn't he thought of it before?_

Slowly, Dean looked up…and let out a soft whoop of delight.

Up above, the tree branches were close enough to nearly touch each other, forming a path in the sky. And starting where Dean was standing—where Sam had disappeared—every upper branch of every tree within a ten-foot radius was frozen solid.

XXX

Dean, where are you? The words had been repeated in his head so many times since he'd come here that Sam had lost count, and every time they were accompanied by a thought that Sam forced firmly away: What if Dean couldn't find him? 

There was a new person in the cave with them—Julie had been taken away and replaced with another girl, this one about Dean's age, named Emily. She didn't talk much, but she wasn't as quiet as Amber and Krista were—neither of _them_ had said a word that Sam knew of. They may as well have been statues.

Brian was still trying to figure out what was happening to them, and where the people who disappeared from this cavern went. Sam had a pretty fair idea of that, but he _really_ hoped he was wrong—and that if he was right, Brian and the others wouldn't be able to figure it out.

Sam lived in dread that he would be next on the list—or, worse, that he _wouldn't _be. What if it was Brian? He _liked_ Brian, who hadn't yet panicked once about the situation and actually seemed to be willing to _not_ treat Sam as a kid. Or what if it was Krista? Sam didn't know anything about the little girl, but he did know that she was the last person in that cavern who deserved the fate of the others who had been taken away. And if Amber was taken, who would watch over Krista? It seemed that Amber had appointed herself as the guardian of the girl—though Brian said the two weren't related and had in fact never met before this—so if something happened to Amber it would undoubtedly be bad for Krista. And the new girl, Emily—Sam didn't want anything happening to her either, though he hadn't spoken to her yet.

But if Dean and John didn't find them, _someone_ in this room was going to die.

Sam knew that, but he was careful never to let the others even guess how terrified he was.

Because he was a hunter, and it was his job to protect them.

He couldn't be scared.

XXX

"I swear, I am going to have _so much fun_ killing this bastard," Dean muttered through clenched teeth as he waded through the snow, following the crooked path of frozen trees. Now that the snow had stopped, the air was warmer, but the piles were now waist high in some places, and Dean's jeans were completely soaked through and his teeth chattered with cold. But not once did it even occur to him that he could turn back and go get his father. No, that would take too much time—he had to get Sam, now, because he had been missing for over twenty-four hours now and soon the _thing_ would need something to eat…

The trail seemed to be going on forever. He had been walking for over three hours, until he could no longer feel any of his limbs. But he was willing to bet that Sam, wherever he was, was colder and more tired—and in far more danger—than he was, and the thought spurred him on when nothing else worked.

But at last—at long last—the trail ended. The trees stopped being frozen, which meant that the ice creature had dropped to the ground, and though its tracks were covered, Dean was certain that its lair was somewhere around here. But where was here?

Dean looked around. He was standing near the opening of a small pocket canyon, surrounded by cliffs on three sides with the forest in back of him. So the creature's lair would have to be a cave, and the opening would probably be small and inconspicuous. Dean readied his weapon, and stepped into the canyon.

_I should call Dad_.

_No, I shouldn't. He'd just tell me to come back._

_Yeah, but he wants to find Sam just as much as I do._

_But he'd never let me know that. He'd never admit he's worried._

_I should still call him._

Dean battled with himself on this subject as he searched diligently for an opening in the cliffs, but finally decided that he would at least wait until he found an entrance to make the call—or maybe until he found Sam, so that John couldn't try to force him to go back to the motel and return to the canyon with his father.

Almost as if fate was waiting for him to reach this conclusion, almost the second he completed the thought, Dean saw a small opening in the cliff face—so tiny as to be nearly invisible, half-covered with evergreen branches. He approached cautiously, unsure if the thing would be home or not, ready to fire his weapon at any time. But nothing jumped out at him, nothing attacked, as he reached the opening and pushed the branches aside.

He stepped in slowly, and stopped to take a look around.

The passage was as narrow as the opening, the stone walls frosty and damp, everything nearly swallowed by blackness. Dean tightened his coat around himself, and began to follow the passage, which only went one way but was narrow and twisty enough to be disorienting. The entire time, he kept his eyes peeled and strained his hearing, trying to sense any possible attack in enough time to mount a defense. But to his faint shock and intense relief, nothing came—at all. So the thing was either gone, or this was the wrong place, or—it _wanted_ Dean to get somewhere.

_Well, whatever it is you want, you got it, because I'm not leaving,_ Dean thought angrily.

And he went on.

He walked for about five minutes before the path forked, with three paths leading right, left, and straight. Dean stopped, unsure of where to go, his fear mounting as the moments passed, listening with all his might without being sure what he was listening for.

And then he heard it.

Singing, so quiet that it was nearly inaudible, slightly off-key and scratchy.

It was the most beautiful sound Dean had ever heard.

It was Sam.

Sam, singing his mother's favorite lullaby, although he had only ever known it as Dean's Song because no one had ever told him the truth—that Dean had learned it from Mary and sang it to comfort himself as much as Sam in the night.

Dean nearly laughed aloud in his delight, but even at this moment his instincts prevailed, and it was on silent feet that he jogged down the right path, flamethrower still up and ready to shoot.

The path sloped slightly upward as it came near the end, so that by the time Dean reached the cavern, he was standing on a rock shelf about four feet above the ground. He leaned against the wall, panting from his jog, and looked inside.

There was a group of five in there, all looking scared and tired and cold and unhappy—a young man about sixteen, leaning against the wall, staring into space, a girl his age lying stretched out on her side on the floor, another girl about the same age as the guy pacing rapidly, and a little baby girl, barely three, wrapped in a coat that was much too large for her and which looked very familiar.

And sitting behind her, holding her in his lap and singing softly to her to calm her fears, was Sam.

A lump grew in Dean's throat so that he could barely speak, and his hands began to shake. After twenty-six hours and some odd minutes, he had found his brother. His brother who seemed as peaceful as it was possible to be under the circumstances, and who seemed now to be trying to keep everyone else that way, too. Dean realized then that they were all utterly silent—all of them were listening to his baby brother sing, and all of them were watching him as if they couldn't quite believe him. He was the youngest of all of them except for the toddler and he was keeping them all calm.

Dean felt a surge of pride and love so great that he thought he might burst, and one word escaped him. "Sammy…"

He thought he'd said it too softly to hear, but Sam looked up instantly. His eyes locked with Dean's, and they stared at each other. The other four looked in Dean's direction, and they all seemed profoundly shocked.

The moment ended when Sam stood up. He handed the little girl over to the guy, and then wordlessly launched himself across the cavern.

Dean met him at a dead run halfway across, dropping the flamethrower on the floor, and caught the boy up in his arms, lifting him as easily as if he weighed nothing at all and burying his face against Sam's thin shoulder. Sam wrapped his arms around Dean's chest and his legs around Dean's waist, just like when he was little, and clung there as if he would never let go.

Dean didn't ever want to let go, either.

"Sammy…God…I was so scared…" he whispered, resting his chin on the top of Sam's head, feeling a couple of tears escape and for once in his life not caring at all.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there holding his brother, with the others still staring at him as if he had more heads than could easily be counted, but it didn't seem like long enough. Finally, though, he pulled back to look Sam over.

The boy looked slightly the worse for wear. He had dark circles under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his face was dirty and grimy. There was a scrape on his temple that must have hurt like hell, and a thin cut on his cheek that wasn't bleeding but still looked painful. His face was pale and thin, and he looked cold. But he was smiling at Dean in spite of all this, and while he definitely still looked scared, he also seemed confident that Dean could get him out of this mess.

"Sammy, are you okay?" Dean asked quietly. It was a stupid question, considering what the kid had been through, but Dean had to ask it.

Sam smiled wider and flung his arms around Dean again. "I'm fine. I _told_ them you would come! But where's Daddy?"

Dean flushed. "Um…"

"You snuck out."

"Yup."

"_Dean!_"

"Well, he was bugging me."

"Call him before he spazzes."

"I don't think that's possible for him…"

"_Call him_."

"Yeesh! Fine! Jeez!" Dean said, but he was grinning from ear to ear as he shifted Sam so that he was tucked against his shoulder, held up by one of Dean's arms, his legs still wrapped around Dean's waist, and took out the cell phone to speed-dial John's number.

John started shouting the second he picked up the phone, so that every single person in the cavern could hear it, and his language would have made a sailor blush. Dean grew red with embarrassment, but the audience didn't stop him from screaming right back without even trying to tell John that he'd found Sam, and finally Sam himself snatched the phone away from him and said into it, "Dad, it's Sam."

The shouts ceased abruptly, and there was utter silence on the other end as Sam told John calmly all that had happened, that he was okay, where they were, and that there were others. Then he listened for a moment and handed the phone back to Dean, who barked a few annoyed words into it and then hung up. "All right, let's get outta here. I'm tired of this place."

"Um…" the girl who had been on the ground spoke up, looking deeply puzzled. "What the heck is going on here?"

Dean looked over at her, and a smile spread across his face. Still holding Sam in his arms, he walked over and stretched out his hand. "Dean. Older brother."

Sam rolled his eyes and said, "Dean, this is Emily, and like the rest of us she's been through hell for the last day, so don't go cruising for a hookup now."

Emily looked mildly shocked, and Dean gave Sam a mock-glare.

"So you're the guy Sam's been telling us would come," the guy said, grinning widely and reaching out to shake Dean's hand. "I'm Brian. And I gotta admit, I was beginning to think you were some kind of imaginary friend."

"Nope. I'm his family, in the flesh. And being the singularly wonderful guy I am, I'm gonna get you all outta here."

"But how?" Brian asked. "And how did you know where we were?"

"I didn't. That's what took me so long. And as for how we're gonna get out…don't you people know how to walk?"

"We can't, Dean," Sam said. "Every time someone tries to leave they get taken back here by the—thing—and there's no way around it. They've all tried it. But you can get us out, because I _know_ you're not stupid enough to forget the flamethrower…"

"Not this time, little bro. I've got it." Dean reluctantly put Sam down to go pick up the flamethrower, and then he turned to them. "All right, everyone follow me and _stay quiet. _Sam, you get right behind me and the rest of you follow. When we get outta here, _run_, but stay close together so we don't lose each other and follow me."

"But what—?" Brian began.

"Don't ask what's going on. Trust me, you don't want to know. Let's get outta here."

XXX

To Dean's surprise, they all got out of the cave fairly easily. Nothing appeared to chase them and remarkably, no one panicked.

Dean realized later that he should have known his luck wasn't that good.

Disaster struck scarcely three seconds after they left the caves. They didn't even have time to get more than a couple feet past the entrance before Dean sensed, more than heard, something making its way out of the cave, and he didn't even turn to look before shouting, _"RUN, YOU IDIOTS!"_ He shoved Sam ahead of him and turned quickly, raising his flamethrower in one fluid movement. He didn't have to look to know that Sam had sent the others ahead, but stayed behind himself, and he knew that arguing would only waste his time, so he just resolutely pretended that Sam had gone along with the others.

The thing didn't take long to appear, but Dean didn't plan to let it get out of its cave. He had time to note that it was about seven or eight feet tall, with ice blue, shaggy fur and huge, almost human but slightly proportionately off hands and feet. Then he released a jet of flame straight into its face.

The thing roared in anger, and lifted a "hand" as if to bat the searing heat away, and Dean shoved the flamethrower closer to it. He was amazed when it didn't catch fire—the thing only seemed to make it mad. "Damnit!" Dean muttered as he felt the flamethrower begin to grow cold under his hands. _It isn't going to work._ _Thing's too powerful…_

But the weapon, though inadequate to actually kill the monster, did serve _some _purpose. After a few moments of pitched battle with the flame, it bellowed in pain and rage and turned away, back to the cold and cool of its dark lair. Dean knew instinctively that it would be back out, though, and probably within a few minutes, so he whipped around, grabbed Sam by the back of his shirt, lifted him, and began to run without looking back.

Spurred on by panic, Dean found it easy to navigate the woods through the snow this time around, and he caught up with the others in about five minutes. Even then he didn't slow, but rather sped past them, creating a path for them through the snow with an ease that would have surprised him if he had room in his head for conscious thought.

Finally, though, he realized faintly that there was a stitch in his chest and that it was becoming nearly impossible to breathe. He might have ignored it, but then, he was a hunter, and used to pain. But then he thought of the others in the group—_they_ didn't have that kind of endurance. And so he slowed to a jog and waited for everyone to catch up.

"You guys okay?" he asked when Brian, who was carrying the girl, joined him and slowed his pace. He was breathing hard, too, but he didn't look to be on the verge of collapse like Emily and the other chick did. _Endurance runner,_ Dean thought randomly.

"Yeah," Brian replied, breathing evenly as he waited for his second wind. "Tired, though. None of us have eaten in a couple days, I think. How much longer 'till we're out?"

"Well, this took me three hours to walk, but that was _before_ I was in a blind panic, so I think we're pretty close. Hey, can you guys keep it up a little longer?" he called back, turning and jogging backwards to face Emily and the other girl.

"Think…so…" Emily panted. "I…_so…_wasn't…cut out…for…this…"

"Don't worry, we'll be out of here soon, and my dad will be there to drive you guys to the hospital."

He felt Sam tense against him—Sam had always hated hospitals, probably because he had always had it drilled into his head that he should stay away from them as often as possible. This was one philosophy of John's that Dean actually understood—here there were hospitals there were doctors to find the injuries of the Winchesters odd, and where there were mysterious injuries, there would, inevitably, be social workers. And it was always possible for Sam and Dean to be placed in foster care if evidencecame to light that their ftather could be mistreating them.

And regardless of the danger in his life and Sam's, that was the _last_ thing he wanted.

"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said quietly. "I don't like it any more then you do, but you've got to see a doctor. And with all these people coming in with the same things you've got, they can't possibly accuse Dad of mistreating you."

"I know…"

"It'll be fine," Dean said reassuringly. "I'll make sure of it." _I just want you taken care of._

Sam didn't say anything more, but his muscles were still tense.

Dean was relieved when they neared the edge of the woods fve minutes later. Sam was shivering still, and though Dean had him wrapped in his coat, he wanted to get his brother inside and out of the snow.

He was amazed that it had only taken them about fifteen minutes to get here, but then, everyone wanted to get out and Dean had set a quick pace, without the ten-minute rest periods he had taken from time to time on the way to the cave.

He slowed dwn as he reached the edge of the treeline, and waited for the others to catch up. By then they were all exhausted—a combination of cold, fear, and hunger—and Dean prayed that John would be there so that these people could get the chance to rest that they deserved.

He gave a gasp of relief when he saw the truck parked scarcely ten feet up the slope, John leaning against it and watching for them. As soon as Sam saw him he squirmed out of Dean's grasp and ran forward. Dean thought he had received all the shocks that he was going to that day, but that was before he saw John bend over and hug Sam tightly. Sure, it only lasted for a couple seconds, but _still_…!

But then John was coming over to him, Sam following along behind, and this John was all business, and Dean was forced to forget the near-mirace that had occurred.

The next few minutes were a blur of orders and execution that ended with Brian, the little girl, Emily, and the other young woman lined up in the back seat of the truck under two large, thick blankets and Sam sitting in the front, wrapped up in a third blanket and leaning against Dean.

"Are you warm enough?" Dean asked, talking to all of them but keping his eye on Sam. He got positive replies from all of them, though Sam only nodded, his eyes closed.

Dean's arm tightened around him, conveing his concern without words, and Sam smiled sleepily up at him. "I'm all right. Just tired."

"I know, Sammy. I know."

And Dean hugged Sam fully, in the way that was usually labeled "coddling" byJohn, glaring in defiance at his father, and for once the man said nothing.

Walk the line.  
I'll walk inside you.  
Change your mind.  
Let your love decide you.

Hours later, Sam and the others had been checked into the hospital and put in separate rooms on the second floor. Dean hadn't gotten word about everyone else yet, but Sam was now being treated for malnourishment and low body temperature. The gash in his temple had needed a few stitches and the rest of his cuts had been cleaned with alcohol, but all in all he had been considered lucky, and he would be released the next day, after a night of being hooked up to an IV to pump the fluids he had lost back into his veins.

John had heard Dean's report while Sam was being treated, and then he'd left to go take care of the ice creature with several sticks of dinamite, leaving Dean with his brother.

Dean never once thought of going anywhere, even when a nurse offered him food from the cafeteria. He sat next to Sam's bed, barely moving, holding Sam's hand and watching him sleep.

"How's he doin'?"

Dean started and looked to the doorwy. Brian was standing there, looking in. He was still a little pale, but other than that he looked fine.

Dean smiled tiredly. "He's gonna be fine. He just needs rest. What about the rest of you?"

"Emily and Amber are asleep, and Krista is with a social worker. Her parents…they died. Their bodies were found in the woods hours after Krista disappeared. She'll be put in foster care until a permanent home can be found for her. Everone's expected to make a full recovery, thanks to you." Brian walked over and looked down at Sam, a small smile crossing his features. "I don't understand…"

"What?" Dean asked, hoping that this wasn't leading where he thought it was.

"He's only about ten, isn't he?"

"Eleven."

"And you can't be even as old as I am. But you saved us all, and he…he was _never_ as scared as we were back there. Not once. He kept telling us not to worry, that everything would be fine. He kept our panic at bay and he even took care of Krista, but he's years younger than all of us. He…seemed to now exactly wat was going on the entire time. And you…you saved us all. _How_?"

This _was_ leading where he thought it was. Dean sighed and ran a hand over his face. "_Please_ don't ask me that. _Anything_ but that, you can ask me. Seriously, anything."

"Okay…what _was_ that thing?"

Dean sighed again,. "Okay, anything _else_. Yeesh, you're good with coming up with questions I can't answer. Just know that it's taken care of, and…don't ever mention it to anyone, all right?"

Brian looked at him for a long moment, then nodded once. "Well, thanks anyway, man. Even if I don't know what I'm thanking you for. And when Sam wakes up, tell him thanks from all of us, would you?" Dean nodded, and Brian smiled, clapped him on the shoulder, and left the room.

The Winchesters never saw him or anyone else in that group of captives again.

XXX

Sam walked out of the hospital at noon the next day, well-rested and very nearly back to normal. Dean had resumed his mask of sarcasm, reluctant to have another argument with his father. The two of them had been walking on eggshells around each other, but Dean knew tha before long things would be back to normal.

However, he could already tell that something had changed in Sam. He knew the stakes now, and he realized fully that each and every time he and his brother and father went out on a hunt there was a chance that someone would die.

But it didn't seem to matter. He still followed Dean on every hunt, he still counted on his brother and his father to protect him. And more importantly, he never hesitated to protect them in return. It was as if, after facing death for the first time, he had come to accept it.

In short, he had grown up in a very short space of time.

He would never even _act_ like a child again.

But Dean could still take care of him.

And he always would.

He would _never_ lose Sam again.

- - - - - - - - - -

Okay, so I wanted to get this out yesterday, but it just ot longer…and longer…and LONGER. I finally finished it, though, as you can see, so be kind and review, pretty please!


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